


I'm A Lot Like You (I've Seen The Dark Side, Too)

by rockmusicplays



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Werewolf!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 18:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12488108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockmusicplays/pseuds/rockmusicplays
Summary: If having hot people kiss him out of a panic attack was going to be a regular thing, Stiles might have to make a point of losing his shit more often.





	I'm A Lot Like You (I've Seen The Dark Side, Too)

**Author's Note:**

> So instead of working on either of the series I should actually be working on, I decided to finish yet another old half-written story that's been kicking around on my hard drive for… Jesus, four and a half years? Anyway… This ignores everything post- _Letharia Vulpina_ , up to and including Malia's return.
> 
> For the record, I'm entirely against the idea of Sterek in canon, but even that makes more sense than Stydia so, here you go, folks.
> 
>  _This story is mainly the fault of[this post.](http://sterekdestiel.tumblr.com/post/77034909518/werewolf-stiles-if-it-ever-happens-will-have) Its based off of the promo for _Echo House_ and some fan theories that have been kicking around Tumblr for the last few weeks. _Letharia Vulpina_ made me sad, so for some reason, I decided the solution was to make myself sadder._ \- Because 2014!me felt the need to include summaries/notes in the actual Word document?
> 
> Unbeta'd, as usual.

The weeks following the bombing of the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Station had been the worst of Stiles' life. Waking up in a locked ward with no memory of how he came to be in a psychiatric institution in the first place had been terrifying enough all on its own. Having his dad explain why sent him over the edge.

The days began to run together after that. It was a constant struggle between wanting to forget and clinging to every ugly detail in an effort to keep himself in control of the thing lurking in his mind. Stiles barely ate and flat out refused to sleep. Both of these behaviors had him clashing with the orderlies on a daily basis until he earned himself restraints, an IV drip, and around the clock supervision.

Derek gave him hell for that when he showed up with Scott in the middle of the night to break Stiles out. He imagined he'd probably gotten screamed at twice, actually. Once during the initial escape that Stiles mostly slept through, and again when the cocktail of sedatives in his system wore off enough for him to stay conscious for more than a few minutes at a time.

What he'd thought was a rescue ended up being more of a late-night torture session. Derek had brought Stiles down to the institution's basement while Scott, Kira, and Danny crept through the building taking out the power, the backup power, and the security system in order to keep Stiles' sudden absence unnoticed. Deaton and Lydia were waiting for them downstairs, armed with more of the toxin Deaton had used on him at the clinic, a grab bag of other items Stiles would rather not think about, and a list of theories and rituals. 

Stiles blacked out partway through Plan C and found himself back in his restraints when he came to. Only the fresh bruising on his arms and torso kept him from believing he'd dreamed the whole thing up. He wasn't sure what exactly had been done to him. The only real memory he had was of Derek's fingers digging into his shoulders, holding him against the chair they'd strapped him to and murmuring reassurances while Stiles begged Lydia to let him go.

The finger marks were still tender when a pair of orderlies gave him a shot of something to clear his head and dragged him to one of the visitation rooms. Stiles sat across from Agent McCall, giving one-word answers to a series of questions he was sure he'd already answered. When the questions stopped, Agent McCall gave him an uncharacteristically warm smile and promised he would see Stiles again very soon.

There were no restraints or injections that night, or the night after. On the third night, he was back in his own bed.

Stiles got the short version from his dad on the drive home. There had been a second Nogitsune in Beacon Hills all along. Stiles' medical condition had tipped everyone off to his possession, but the other Nogitsune had kept itself hidden. It made the most of the host body it had taken, devising plans, setting traps, and guiding the actions of the trickster controlling Stiles. It made him into a distraction. A smoke screen. A patsy.

In a desperate attempt to explain away Stiles' involvement in all of the chaos and carnage, Sheriff Stilinski had gone over every detail, every scrap of evidence, and noticed that something wasn't adding up. It wasn't until he brought his suspicions to Chris Argent that everything fell into place.

The second Nogitsune was inside Allison.

Deaton had found a way to expel the trickster spirit possessing Stiles that night in the basement, but Allison wasn't so lucky. Beacon Hills was safe from the Nogitsune, but at a terrible price.

And the hits kept coming.

Stiles' first night back at home brought with it the return of the nightmares. All of the symptoms he'd been hoping were a result of the possession were back with a vengeance. Scott turned up looking grim and exhausted, begging Stiles to let him help. Stiles couldn't bring himself to add to Scott's grief. He accepted the bite without protest.

It was Derek who got him through the first shift. Isaac was back at the McCall's, but he was still in rough shape. Scott didn't want him to be alone during the full moon. Pain usually helped the wolves stay human, but there was a difference between something sudden and sharp that pulled you back to yourself, and a sort of steady agony that wore you down and left you longing for a reprieve. Isaac was just as much a danger to himself and the people around him as Stiles would be.

As the Alpha, Scott could subdue his Beta with a firm touch and a look, whereas Derek would have a fight on his hands. And between the two of them, Stiles was the one who could handle the ass-kicking required to contain a moon-crazed werewolf. 

As badly as Stiles wanted his best friend to be there to help him through this, Isaac needed Scott more than he did tonight. Stiles told him as much, and Scott argued that Isaac had been Derek's Beta first. There was no reason he couldn't keep Isaac safe.

Stiles was adamant that he would spend the night at the loft with Derek. He'd had a hand in putting Isaac in the hospital, and he refused to be the cause of any more suffering. If Scott seemed relieved to have the choice taken out of his hands, Stiles pretended not to see it.

The loft was left a mess of blood and broken furniture. Despite having the advantage of both size and experience, Derek ended up having to knock Stiles unconscious to keep the teen from tearing him to pieces. 

But it wasn't the violence that had Stiles shaking apart at the seams. It was catching his own reflection in the floor to ceiling windows mid-fight and realizing that even with the creature itself gone, Stiles would never be free of the Nogitsune. Not completely.

"Tell me that was you I saw. Tell me I'm still seeing shit that isn't there." Stiles was sprawled against the back of Derek's overturned sofa, still disoriented from the shift and the blow to the head. He gingerly brushed his fingers against the knot behind his ear, and they came away red. 

Derek was kneeling next to the splintered remains of his coffee table, pressing his tattered t-shirt against a set of ugly looking claw marks on his side. Stiles winced, his maybe-hallucination temporarily forgotten.

The older Beta looked like hell. Along with the gashes on his side, blood was leaking from a set of shallower scratches running on an angle from his shoulder to his stomach, and his forearms were littered with smaller marks and punctures. Defensive wounds.

"Jesus, Derek," he breathed.

"It's fine. I'll heal," Derek said, voice tight with pain. "What did you see?"

"What color are my eyes?"

Derek's expression was answer enough.

The grogginess was wearing off, and the pull of the moon was humming through him, sharpening his anguish to a razor's edge that sliced through the tenuous hold he had on his wolf. His vision was awash in the red haze that told him he'd shifted again, but the fight had gone out of him. Instead, there was the rib crushing pressure and shaking hands that signaled the start of a panic attack.

Stiles let out a low, pitiful howl, claws digging into his thighs in a desperate attempt to regain control. And then Derek was there, taking hold of Stiles' wrists and forcing his hands away before he could do any more damage to himself. He got the impression Derek was talking to him, but his voice was muffled, like a badly tuned radio.

Tipping his head back against the sofa, Stiles choked down a sob. All the evidence had pointed towards Allison being the one to lay the traps and sabotage the power cables at the hospital. It had been Allison that had killed the Yakuza member known as Silverfinger and planted the evidence incriminating her father. That was the reason Stiles was sitting on Derek's floor instead of locked in a padded cell.

The authorities were holding Allison responsible for all of it. She'd taken advantage of Stiles' well-documented blackouts and hallucinations to make him an unwitting accomplice. A sounding board and an errand boy. He'd been sick, and she had abused their friendship and his trust.

The truth was much more complicated than that. But with the Nogitsune gone and Allison dead, there was no way of ever knowing exactly what Stiles had or hadn't done. He knew he wasn't innocent in all of this, and now there was proof.

Icy blue where there should have been warm gold. His guilt would be there for the world to see every single time he shifted.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Stiles howled again, a long, quavering note that seemed to physically hurt Derek. The older wolf whimpered, hands coming up to cradle Stiles' face. He leaned into the touch, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to focus on the sensation of Derek's thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone.

"Stiles, look at me." Derek's voice was soft but firm. When Stiles obeyed, he realized that at some point he had shifted back to human. Derek was staring at him with genuine concern, and it set Stiles' already racing heart pounding even harder. There was a flash of something in his eyes that Stiles couldn't put a name to, and then Derek was kissing him.

Lydia's kiss had been full of determination. She had a specific reaction in mind, and she made sure that she got it. Stiles had been too startled to react, and it was over before he had the chance to enjoy it. 

Derek's kiss was just as unexpected, but he was hesitant where Lydia had been forceful. A light, lingering pressure, waiting for Stiles to come back to himself enough to reciprocate. Stiles did so with so much enthusiasm that it startled both of them.

"Wow. That... that was... unexpected," Stiles said after a long moment.

"I'm sorry." Derek scrambled awkwardly to his feet, putting as much space between them as he could without fleeing the room altogether.

"That wasn't a complaint," Stiles replied. "I'd much rather you kiss me than punch me in the face."

Derek made a pained sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "Why would I punch you in the face?" he asked, pointedly ignoring the first part of Stiles' statement.

"Because I needed to snap out of it? And because by the looks of you, I deserve it." Stiles gestured at all the various places Derek was still bleeding from. The look Derek gave him was the particular combination of frown and eyebrows that Stiles had learned early on meant _you're a fucking idiot_.

"You didn't do any of this on purpose, Stiles." The careful way he said made it glaringly obvious that Derek wasn't talking about Stiles mauling him half to death.

"Making excuses for me won't take the blood off of my hands," Stiles shot back, fighting to keep his voice even. Using the sofa for support, Stiles slowly got to his feet and stumbled over to where Derek was standing. Shaky as he still was, Stiles refused to have this conversation with Derek talking down at him like a child. There were going to do this face to face.

"It's not an excuse if it's the truth."

"So, what? I get a pass because I was too weak to fight back?" Stiles demanded. "I'm just supposed to forget that I helped murder innocent people? That I could have killed Isaac and Coach? That I could have killed you?"

"You didn't _help_ do anything!" Derek growled. "That thing crawled inside your head. It made you a tool, not an accomplice."

"If that's true, then why do I have murderer eyes, Derek!" Stiles regretted his choice of words the second they tumbled out of his mouth. Derek went rigid, and Stiles braced himself for the inevitable backlash.

"I never told Jackson what that meant." Derek's voice was quiet and flat. "I probably should have, but I didn't. Because I know what it's like to hate yourself for something you can't change, and can't hide. I'm a killer. I took an innocent life because I was young and stupid. But you? Jackson? You're just as innocent as Paige was."

"Derek, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Stiles placed a tentative hand on Derek's shoulder. "I just-"

"I know," Derek interrupted, shrugging Stiles' hand away and wincing when the movement pulled at slowly-healing scratches. "You're marked. It's not a fun thing to have to come to terms with. But blaming yourself won't make it any easier."

"Does it get easier?" Stiles asked.

"Not really." Derek gave him a weak smile that Stiles returned with an even weaker one.

"Can we talk about something a little less morbid?"

"Like what?"

"Like, the fact that you kissed me?"

Derek cringed. "Could we maybe not have that conversation?"

"You're the one who kissed me, dude," Stiles pointed out, stepping forward and tilting his head, trying to get Derek to meet his eyes.

Derek took a step back, turning away from Stiles in a failed attempt to hide the fact that he was blushing. Stiles grinned, and Derek's face flushed a shade darker. "I'm aware of that, Stiles."

"So, we're just gonna pretend that never happened?" This was so not a topic Stiles was willing to drop without getting some kind of explanation.

"Yes," Derek ground out, suddenly very intent on picking shreds of fabric out of a particularly deep scratch above his hip.

Derek wasn't exactly known for being an open book, but Stiles had spent enough time around him to know when he was actively avoiding giving up important information. He was completely willing to believe Lydia when she offered up science as her reason for planting one on him, but coming from Derek that didn't make a lick of sense. This was not a guy who handed out tenderness of any kind without a damn good reason.

And if Stiles couldn't figure out what that reason was, he was going to lose it all over again. Although, if having hot people kiss him out of a panic attack was going to be a regular thing, Stiles might have to make a point of losing his shit more often.

"Hey, I know it wasn't exactly mind-blowing, but you caught me off guard," said Stiles, more determined than ever to keep needling Derek until the other Beta fessed up.

Derek sighed heavily. "We're not discussing this. Not tonight."

"So there is something to discuss?" That had Stiles heart thumping painfully in his chest, loud enough that even without werewolf hearing Derek wouldn't have been able to miss it. He shot Stiles a warning look that was more scared than angry. "Okay. Fine. When are we going to discuss it?"

"When you're old enough to vote." Derek brushed past him, making his way towards the spiral staircase in the corner of the loft.

Stiles stared dumbly after him, mind reeling over the implications of that particular stipulation. "Oh come on!" he sputtered. "You realize my birthday was like, not even a month ago, right? I'm not going to be eighteen for an entire year!"

"Exactly why we're going to pretend that never happened," Derek replied, already halfway up the stairs. "I'm tired of getting shot."

"Who the hell is going to shoot you?" Stiles yelled after him. _Oh. Right. Sherriff's kid._ "Well, it would just be regular bullets! You'll live!"

"That's comforting." Derek had apparently paused just out of sight in the upstairs hallway, presumably on his way to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

Stiles limped over to the base of the stairs, realizing as he went that he'd done something painful to his knee while he was busy hulking out on Derek's furniture. "I'm worth it," Stiles quipped, leaning against the handrail and peering up into the darkness above him to try and catch a glimpse of the older wolf.

"You'll still be worth it a year from now," Derek said quietly.

Rendered speechless yet again, Stiles stood motionless until he heard the bathroom door close and the shower turn on. Nothing about tonight had gone the way he'd been expecting, and it was more than he could deal with right now. The logical part of his brain knew he should leave before Derek came back downstairs now that he was too exhausted for any more werewolf shenanigans, full moon be damned.

But the little voice in the back of his mind that had gotten him into so much trouble over the years was screaming at him that if he left now, he'd lose his chance to get Derek to admit to his face that there was something going on between them. Much as he'd prefer to believe otherwise, Stiles was pretty sure his crush on Derek was pretty damn obvious. But Stiles was so used to his feelings being one-sided that the idea of Derek maybe kinda liking him back was too ridiculous to even consider.

And yet here he was, standing in Derek's loft with the very real knowledge of what it felt like to get up close and personal with Derek's stubble and mulling over what felt suspiciously like a declaration of some kind. _You'll still be worth it a year from now_. What the fuck was Stiles supposed to do with that?

With a frustrated groan, Stiles limped back across the loft and threw himself face down on Derek's bed. Toeing his sneakers off to land with a _thud_ on the concrete floor, he tried unsuccessfully to unzip his hoodie without actually having to get up again. Half-rolling onto his side, he wriggled out of the offending piece of clothing and crawled under the covers.

Once he got as comfortable as he could given how many different parts of him were currently aching, Stiles found himself fighting to stay awake. He really was exhausted.

When he heard Derek on the stairs an undetermined amount of time later, he said sleepily, "A lot can happen in a year, you know."

"I know." Derek's footsteps stopped at the end of the bed.

Unable to work up the energy to open his eyes, let alone lift his head up, Stiles muffled a yawn against the pillow he'd claimed as his own for the night. "Nothing I say is going to change your mind." It wasn't a question, really. If nothing else, Stiles knew enough about Derek's past to know that there were some lines he would never willingly cross.

"Nope. Now, move." Derek sounded more like himself now. Meaning of course that he sounded irritated.

"But I'm tired," Stiles whined, still not bothering to open his eyes.

"Go be tired someplace else," Derek ordered, swatting Stiles in the leg.

"Your sofa is kinda fucked, dude," Stiles replied, peering up at Derek over his shoulder. He was a little more alert now that his knee was throbbing again, and more than a little shocked to learn that Derek actually owned pajamas. The sight of him dressed in blue flannel pants and an incredibly soft-looking grey t-shirt had Stiles glad for the distraction his busted up knee offered.

"Whose fault is that?"

"You helped," Stiles groused, gingerly repositioning his leg and stifling a groan when something behind his kneecap crunched unpleasantly.

" _Stiles._ " Derek sounded exasperated, but something about his tone was off. Sure enough, when Stiles glanced back up at the older wolf, he was frowning down at him in a decidedly un-Derek-like way.

Choosing to ignore whatever was going on with Derek's face at the moment, Stiles snuggled further under the covers and tried his best to look adorable. "I'll stay on my own side. You won't even know I'm here."

"Did any of what I just said register?" Now Derek was back to regular exasperated, and Stiles smirked.

"I'm not asking you to spoon me, Derek. I seriously just want to sleep." Derek scowled, eyeing the bed, then the staircase, then the bed again, apparently weighing his options. Cora and Isaac had both lived here at one point, so there had to be at least one other bed upstairs. Stiles did his best not to laugh.

When Derek continued to glower at him, Stiles made a show of carefully arranging himself in order to leave Derek plenty of space to lie down without Stiles being anywhere near him. Grumbling under his breath, Derek finally circled around to the empty side of the bed, turned off the lights, and got under the covers.

Stiles watched with growing amusement as Derek positioned himself as close to the edge of the mattress as he could get without falling off, holding himself as still as possible. "Am I really that tempting?" Stiles asked, only half joking. Derek was being, well, a Stiles level of ridiculous about the situation, and it was kind of unsettling being on the other side of it.

Either there was a hell of a lot that Stiles had been utterly oblivious to over the past year and a half, or Derek had gotten himself a pretty serious head injury fighting Stiles off.

"Stiles, I swear to god if you don't go the fuck to sleep right now I will knock you out again."

"And we're back to threatening bodily harm. Awesome. Good. This was starting to get uncomfortable." Inching tentatively towards the middle of the bed, Stiles flexed his knee experimentally and instantly regretted it. The crunch was audible this time, as was Stiles' yelp of pain.

"Where?" Derek asked, getting up to turn the lights back on.

"Knee," Stiles groaned, swatting Derek's hand away when he reached over to tug the blankets away.

"Relax. I just need to see how bad it is. Sit up."

Reluctantly, Stiles complied, scooting back to sit against the headboard. "Why? It'll heal on its own, right? It's one of my superpowers now."

"Bones and joints are tricky," Derek replied, gently probing at the swollen lump that seemed to have swallowed up Stiles' kneecap. "If they're not in the right position when they start to heal, they heal wrong."

"That doesn't sound good," Stiles said, biting back another yelp as Derek continued to poke and prod.

"You'll be fine." Holding on to Stiles' calf with one hand, Derek reached back to grab his pillow. Easing it under Stiles' knee, he said, "Just try to stay still for a little while. Think you can manage that?"

"Well, I don't particularly want to find out what happens when things heal wrong, so, yeah. I can manage that."

"Good."

Stiles waited for Derek to lie back down, but once again he seemed to be intent on doing the exact opposite of what Stiles expected him to do. They sat side by side on the bed for what felt like an eternity, close enough that Stiles could feel the other wolf's body heat. It was driving him crazy.

"Okay, you can't just not tell me why," Stiles demanded after a long, awkward silence.

"Maybe I don't know why," Derek said quietly.

"Bullshit. If you hadn't meant to do exactly what you did, you wouldn't be acting like a fucking weirdo right now."

"Stiles, I can't… I shouldn't have done that." Derek looked so incredibly sad it actually made Stiles' chest ache. Looks like he was right after all.

"Derek, it's okay."

"No. It's not."

"The fact that you're freaking out right now? Makes you a way, way better person than Kate could ever even pretend to be," Stiles said gently, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when Derek paled at the mention of her name. "You're not her, okay?"

"Then you get why I can't do this."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Which is why I'm not asking you to _do_ anything. I just want you to tell me what's going on in that head of yours. Because if there is actually something here? I need to know."

"What difference would it make?" Derek sighed.

"Today? No difference at all. But a year from now? It could make a very, very big difference."

Derek was silent for a very, very long time. Long enough for Stiles to start feeling like he was about to crawl out of his skin. Whether it was anxiety or the moon, he couldn't tell. Either way, he was hanging on by a thread.

"Why do you think I tried so hard to stay away from you after I came back to Beacon Hills?" Derek's voice was so soft it barely even sounded like him at all. It took Stiles a few seconds for the fact that he'd even spoke to register, and by the time his brain caught up the older wolf was already halfway off of the bed.

"Derek, wait," Stiles said, flailing a little as he tried to grab hold of Derek's arm. "You can't just… say shit like that."

"I stayed away because I thought I was protecting you. But If I'd been here, if I'd kept an eye on you, I would have known something was wrong." Derek sat on the edge of the mattress with his back to Stiles, and the younger wolf could feel the air in the room change. Being able to smell emotions was something Stiles didn't think he could ever get used to, and right now he really wished that he didn't have that particular skill. He couldn't quite put a name to everything he was picking up on, but the combination seemed to indicate that Derek really needed a hug. "Maybe those people would still be alive. Allison would still be alive. And you wouldn't have had to go through what you did."

"Derek, none of this was your fault. There's no way you could've even known this was something we needed to be worried about." Derek made a soft, frustrated sound that had Stiles reaching for him again, fingers closing around Derek's shoulder and squeezing. "We didn't even realize what was happening until it was too late."

"Exactly. One look at you and I would've known that you weren't you anymore."

Stiles spent exactly three seconds thinking that was the most romantic thing he'd ever heard. Then he realized Derek was talking about the Nogitsune's aura, not his… soul, or whatever. "Hey. C'mere," he ordered, moving his hand to Derek's bicep and tugging at his arm. Derek jerked out of Stiles' grasp, leaving him once again flailing at thin air. "Hey! Don't make me come over there!" he threatened.

Derek got to his feet and seemed ready to make some kind of rude remark when he spotted Stiles' still-swollen knee. Stiles gave him his best imitation of the kicked puppy look Scott seemed to have perfected, and Derek had the nerve to laugh at him.

Stiles made an indignant sound, slumping back against the headboard. Shaking his head, Derek sat back down beside him, mirroring Stiles' position. Their shoulders were almost touching. Stiles decided to push his luck by sliding over ever so slightly to lean against the other wolf.

"I feel like a complete asshole even asking this, but I'm going to. The reason you were so insistent on knowing where I stand with this is because…"

"Because I like you too, you big goof."

Derek huffed out a short laugh, breath ruffling Stiles' hair. "Noted."

"And I get why this can't be a thing. It sucks, but I get it." Stiles tipped his head back, looking up at Derek and waiting for him to oblige Stiles' unspoken request for eye contact before he continued. "You didn't do anything wrong, Derek. You're not hurting me, and you're not going to hurt me. We're gonna wait, and we're gonna see what happens. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. After tonight, we are officially shelving this topic until you're no longer in danger of getting shot. Agreed?"

"Stiles, you know that's not what this is about."

"I know. But neither of us need to be thinking about the Argents right now," Stiles said pointedly.

"Fair enough."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence after that, Stiles teetering on the edge of sleep until Derek nudged him. "How's your knee feel?"

Stiles frowned, considering. The dull, throbbing ache was gone, which he took to be a good sign. He straightened his leg out, grinning when his knee didn't so much as twinge at the movement. "Good as new! Does that mean we can sleep now?" he asked.

"Yeah. It does."

"Oh good." Stiles scooped up the pillow that had been propping his leg up and tossed it into Derek's lap before crawling eagerly back under the covers, and waited for Derek to do the same.

"I should sleep upstairs," said Derek, setting the pillow aside.

"Nope. Not happening," Stiles insisted, looping an arm around Derek's waist in an attempt to keep him on the bed. "I said _after_ tonight we'd shelve this. It's still tonight, so you're gonna lay down and go to sleep."

"Just sleep," Derek warned, getting up to turn off the lights.

"Absolutely," Stiles promised.

It was a promise he was more than happy to keep. For all his faults and past mistakes, Derek deserved to happy. For some insane reason, Stiles was something that made him happy. And that wasn't something he was willing to take away from Derek for anything, no matter how long it meant he had to wait.


End file.
